


Falling + food + footwork

by slightly_ajar



Series: Domesticities [2]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Ballroom Dancing, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Food, Found Family, Friendship, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 18:17:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18238526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightly_ajar/pseuds/slightly_ajar
Summary: Another part from my Domesticities series of one shots based around little domestic moments.The team gather at Mac and Bozer’s house after Leanna is hurt during a mission.  Mac thinks about  showing affection, food, dancing and how to keep the toaster from making a mess on the kitchen ceiling.“Are we really going to sit here and spend the next ninety minutes watching people who don’t know how to dance dance?” Jack was in the easy chair, filling the cracked leather with a slumped posture and a grumpy demeanour.





	Falling + food + footwork

Mac was happy to sit on the floor. A pillow cushioned his backside against the hardwood beneath him and he had room to spread out the parts of the toaster he was tinkering with. Earlier that day Bozer had wondered aloud if it was possible to make toast leap up high out of a toaster the way it did in cartoons and Mac had decided to find out. He was pretty sure he was close to finishing the adjustments, the springs just needed some final tweaking since he’d promised Bozer that the toast wouldn’t be catapulted up to become a golden brown mess on the kitchen ceiling. 

Honestly, Mac grumbled to himself, get a grilled cheese sandwich all over the ceiling fan once and no one lets you forget it. 

“Are we really going to sit here and spend the next ninety minutes watching people who don’t know how to dance dance?” Jack was in the easy chair, filling the cracked leather with a slumped posture and a grumpy demeanour. “If I wanted to do that I’d just take Mac to a club and pour some tequila inside him. Have you ever witnessed the combination of hard liquor and Captain Graceless over there?” Jack raised his eyebrows at the general population of the living room as he pointed at Mac, “it’s like watching a giraffe getting electrocuted, all long limbs and sharp movements.” 

All eyes turned to Mac, Jack’s teasing and amused, Riley, Bozer and Leanna’s curious and keen. 

“Well err, is that a story that anyone is going to share?” Leanna asked. 

“It wasn’t like that.” Mac protested, “I wasn’t dancing…”

“I’ll agree with that.” Jack interrupted. 

“I was trying to walk across a dance floor and I slipped and as I went down…”

“Like a felled oak.” Jack again. “Arms waving, eyes wide, boots in the air.” 

“…as I went down...” Mac tried to continue, the cheeks burning with the memory of his humiliating tumble. 

“The music in that place was pounding,” Jack drummed his hand into the arm of his chair to recreate the throbbing beat, “and I heard the thud you made as you slammed into the ground over the _boom boom boom_ of the bass.” 

“…as I went down…”

“You know, those girls were very understanding about the whole situation.” Jack’s eyes sparkled. “You might even have had a shot with the dark haired one if you hadn’t been covered in all that sticky shmutz from the floor.” 

“I fell.” Discretion was the better part of valour, Mac decided. The more he tried to tell his side of the story the more embellished and embarrassing Jack’s version was going to become. “I slipped on a dancefloor fell over. There’s not much to tell.” 

“You could say that if you think watching something that looks like Wile E Coyote doing the Snoopy dance off a cliff isn’t much to talk about. Me? I laughed for a solid thirty minutes. We almost lost sight of our mark because I couldn’t see through my tears.” Jack swiped a thumb at his eyes as he chuckled at the memory. 

“ _You_ lost the mark, _I_ had to tackle him around at the back of the club where the sidewalk was covered in the kind of stuff that ends up on the ground in an alleyway.” Mac shuddering at the memory of the soft, warm, tickly squelching mess he had landed in. 

Jack shrugged and took a swig of beer. “Your clothes were ruined anyway, dude.” 

Jack had the easy chair, Mac was on the floor and Riley, Bozer and Leanna were sat on the couch. Bozer and Riley were at each end with Leanne propped up in the middle supported by all the cushions Mac and Bozer owned. Her foot and its bandaged ankle were elevated by a pillow on the table in front of the couch, which was full of plates, bowls and serving trays heaped with food. 

Bozer’s mom loved to cook. In Mac’s memory delicious, mouth-watering smells always greeted him whenever he walked into Bozer’s house when they were children, and Bozer’s mom always offered him something to eat when he was there. She made sandwiches for him and Bozer while they played with Hot Wheel cars and baked cookies with dark chocolate chips when she found out that they were his favourite. She’d stop by Bozer’s room with plates of treats when they were working on science projects together and Bozer used to arrive at The Lab with a bag filled with freshly made muffins wrapped carefully to keep them warm. Mac hadn’t known how to accept the gifts at first, the thought that Bozer’s mom pitied him made him uncomfortable and he had a feeling that his father wouldn’t like it, thinking that James might see it as judgement on how he was caring for his son. It didn’t take long for Mac to realise that Bozer’s mom used food to show affection. Cooking and baking for the people she care for was her way of nurturing them. Each offered plate of food said, “I want you to be well. I want you to be happy. I love you.” 

She was a mother who had lost a son and he was a son without a mother. She’d recognised an emptiness in him and tried to fill it with nourishment to temper her own loss. 

Using food to show love was a trait that Bozer had inherited. Leanna had been hurt during the mission that day, she’d taken a bad step during a chase down a fire escape and Mac had been with Bozer in the War Room when she’d cried out in fear and pain. 

“Leanna’s down!” Riley’s called through the comms, “I can’t see her!” 

Time ticked slowly by as they waited for reassurance that Leanna okay. They listened to Riley sprint down the remaining steps of the ladder, the clang of the metal under her feet and her panted breaths the only sounds in the War Room. Mac had put a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder and could feel the frightened tension coursing through him in the tight muscles under his fingers. 

_Don’t take her away from us, we can’t lose anyone else. He can’t lose anyone else._ Mac’s pleas were a chant echoing in his mind in time with the throb of his pulse in his ears. _Please don’t take her away from him._ He held his breath until Riley spoken over the comms to confirm that she’s found Leanna and that she was winded but not badly hurt. Bozer bowed with relief when Leanna’s breathless voice came through the radio, “I’m fine. That wasn’t my best ever landing but I’m fine. Everything’s okay, babe.” 

“She’s okay, Boze.” Bozer rested his head against Mac’s shoulder and took deep, steadying breaths while his shaking hands clutched fists full of Mac’s shirt. They could hear the muffled voices of agents outside the War Room but the walls were opaque and none of the agents moving purposefully beyond the glass could see inside. Mac was thankful for the privacy the barrier gave them. He knew that Bozer still harboured insecurities about his place in the Phoenix and wouldn’t want witnesses to his moment of vulnerability. “She’s okay.” 

“I know.” Bozer stepped away from Mac, his chin lifting in a display of cocky composure, “she’s a super bad ass ninja spy. It’ll take more than a slip on a fire escape to stop her. She eats fire escapes for breakfast. She thinks they’re crunchy and full of iron.” 

“Fire escapes are made of steel which is actually a mixture of… but that’s not important.” The explanation had begun like reflex even as Mac ached with empathy for his friend. He patted Bozer’s shoulder, switching tracks from scientific facts into the banter that would help bolster his friend’s bravado. “Your super spy ninja Catwoman is on her way back here, picking bits of ladder out of her teeth as she goes, shall we go down to meet her?” 

Bozer looked up at the monitor, “I’m going to wait here to make sure they get back okay.” He looked up at the two dots that represented Riley and Leanna move along the street map on the display, his eyes haunted with an old pain “There’s nothing worse someone being hurt and not being able to help, watching them bleed and not knowing what to do, being helpless. I’m going to stay here in case they need anything else.” 

Mac stayed with Bozer as he carefully watched Leanna and Riley travel along the map of LA in their journey back to the Phoenix, his comms open, a tactical team on standby and his hands wringing together with unsettled nerves. 

After Bozer had collected Leanna from Medical he had insisted on bringing her back to his and Mac’s house where he could dote on her and cook for her. He’d cooked in a frenzy of sizzling oil, shimmering heat haze and the clash of pans and measuring spoons. Mac took himself and the toaster aside to give Bozer the space work through his residual nervous energy. Riley and Jack who, knowing that Bozer was going to need to be surrounded by the grounding support of his friends and realising just how much food he was going to make, invited themselves over and Mac sat with them while Bozer cooked up a storm. 

Leanna watched Bozer dash between bowls and chopping boards, commenting on each ingredient and throwing herbs and spices around like a young wizard in a potions class. “How much food is he going to make?” She asked, squinting at the dishes that were mounting up before her. 

“I’ve learnt that it’s best to sit back and let it happen.” Mac said. “It helps him relax and he can get surprisingly defensive of the kitchen. Getting in the way while he’s like this is like poking a bear.” 

“I never did get that tomato stain out of my third favourite Bon Jovi T shirt after that time I tried to get a glass of water while he was making lasagna. Do you remember that?” Jack asked, “He went loco, there was sauce all up the windows, the kitchen looked like a crime scene. I’ve learned to just sit back, relax and wear pants with an elasticated waist when he’s in this mood.” 

As part of Bozer's plan to determinedly look after Leanna in a way that was all encompassing but not overbearing or patronising he had promised that she could choose what they watched on TV, and since she loved ballroom dancing and hadn’t had a chance to watch any of the episodes of Dancing with the Stars she’d Tivoed they all settled down for an evening’s entertainment of sequins, quicksteps and tangos. 

Leanne lifted one shoulder in a shrug, a little self-conscious but unapologetic about her choice. “I know it’s cheesy but I love this show. I love the routines and the costumes and seeing people get better at dancing every week. It’s sweet.” 

Bozer bopped his head along to the theme music and Jack rolled his eyes and looked over to Mac for a partner to his disapproval of an evening without Bruce Willis or Jedi Knights, but Mac was happy to watch the couples sashay across the dance floor. 

The truth was that he liked watching dancing. He was interested in observing the biomechanics of the dancer’s bodies, thinking they might be a useful reference to use for calibrating Sparky’s muscular structure. He enjoyed the opposing and corresponding flow of the dancer’s moves, their actions driving and bracing their partner’s equal and opposite reactions. The bodies in motion staying in motion until acted on by an outside force, like the hand that supporting a dip or the arms that caught the female dancer in the daring lift the couple had just performed. 

And he thought that waltz was pretty. 

“Why did the judges only give them seventeen points when that other couple got twenty four and they got the same kind of comments?” Riley asked, pointing at the disappointed couple on the TV who were shrugging and smiling ruefully at their low score. 

“The scoring doesn’t always make sense and I think the judges have their favourite couples even though they aren’t supposed to.” Leanna answered. The exertion of the day had caught up with her, her adrenaline rush had long worn off and the painkillers were taking their toll. She had sunk lower in in her seat, leaning into Bozer who had angled his body to she could rest her weight against him, her cheek on his shoulder and their fingers twined together and resting in his lap. 

Flashing lights and ninety second versions of pop song accompanied more dances, some good, some okay and some hilariously bad. The food on the table vanished, much of it eaten with loud protesting crunches by Jack. Mac finished with the toaster and laid is aside to fiddle idly with a paperclip. 

A couple step out to dance the foxtrot, resplendent in purple and tiny crystals, and they span and swayed across dance floor. The professional dancer maintained a wide, beaming smile and his celebrity partner tried to look happy but was clearly counting the beats of the song in her head. 

“Awww, look at her,” Leanna said, her nose wrinkling into a compassionate frown. “You can see in her eyes that she’s thinking ‘one two three, two two three, three two three’.” 

Bozer nodded. “She’s praying that she remembers all the steps. I remember feeling like that when I was doing the electric slide with Maylene Westwood at the Junior High prom.” 

“Her arms aren’t very good.” Jack commented, his forehead creasing with his disapproval at the woman as she reached up and with a self-conscious attempt at grace. “Look at her, she isn’t finishing her lines.” 

As one, the others slowly turned away from the TV to gape at him. 

“The hand is supposed to lead the arm,” he continued, unaware that he was the centre of collectively bewildered attention, “not get flung out like you’re trying to swat a fly.” He raised an arm in an elegant arc that ended with a neat flex of the tips of his fingers. 

“Um, Jack?” Bozer asked, his confused tone speaking for all of them. “You are still Jack, right? You haven’t been replaced by a clone, or a robot or an alien that’s been sent to this planet to see whether human beings notice if one of their friends says something really, really out of character?” 

Jack turned, realising that he was the focus of everyone’s gaze, each of them staring at him, shocked at his sudden and apparently in depth dance knowledge. 

He blinked, studied each of their surprised faces and looked up to where his arms was still held in a graceful pose. Then he cleaned his throat, lowered his hand, squared his shoulders and took a sip of his beer. 

“What?” 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are welcomed, loved and adored. They’re like getting a ten from Len.
> 
> I haven’t seen Dancing with the Stars but I love Strictly Come Dancing which is the original British version of the show. I’ve watched it for years and have seen so many episodes that I sit commenting on the dancing now like I know what I’m talking about. I have genuinely sat watching a couple dance and saying things like, “there’s a lot of gapping there”, “their footwork is a bit messy” and, like Jack, “their arms aren’t very neat, they’re not finishing the movement.” When the judges agree it means I’m right and when they don’t agree with me they’re being biased and I’m still right :)


End file.
